


the second I saw you through half-shut eyes

by faithtastic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, F/F, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, a lot of eye-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/pseuds/faithtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gap forms in the crowd, clearing for just a few seconds, and Lexa's gaze lands on a blonde. Strobe lights shutter across her vision, revealing the woman in flashes syncopated with the sudden bass drop, the <em>wub wub wub</em> reverberating through Lexa's chest. The rhythm picks up again and Lexa finds herself mesmerised by the swivel of this stranger's hips, the flex of her shoulder blades as she lifts her arms above her head. The silhouette of her body leaves Lexa's mouth dry, the Scotch doing nothing to quench her thirst. Vivid lights dapple the blonde's skin in a sequence of violet, green and blue and Lexa can't look away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the second I saw you through half-shut eyes

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a lyric from Magnets by Disclosure and Lorde.

The club is stifling, the air humid, and around Lexa the alcohol is flowing freely. They're here to celebrate Polis VC's latest investment: a fledgling startup founded by two scruffy kids from MIT, one that's developed what the tech blogs and industry analysts are touting as the first killer VR app. It's a coup for the company—for Lexa personally—but she isn't in the mood for partying tonight.

She watches impassively as Titus, her CFO, grabs the magnum of Krug sweating in the ice bucket, topping up Jasper and Monty. They're both drunk already, snickering when Titus carelessly overfills their glasses, liquid sloshing over the sides. They raise their champagne flutes in a toast. "Here's to making bank," Jasper yells over the music.

Lexa's mouth ticks up in a wry smile. She doesn't partake in the champagne. Aged single malts are her tipple of choice and she sips slowly, tuning out the loud conversation at their table. She looks over the dance floor instead, at the sweaty mass of writhing bodies. Vintage R'n'B and West Coast hip hop are more to her taste but there's a certain primal appeal to this frenetic beat and the arms-aloft hedonism it inspires.

A gap forms in the crowd, clearing for just a few seconds, and Lexa's gaze lands on a blonde. Strobe lights shutter across her vision, revealing the woman in flashes syncopated with the sudden bass drop, the _wub wub wub_ reverberating through Lexa's chest. The rhythm picks up again and Lexa finds herself mesmerised by the swivel of this stranger's hips, the flex of her shoulder blades as she lifts her arms above her head. The silhouette of her body leaves Lexa's mouth dry, the Scotch doing nothing to quench her thirst. Vivid lights dapple the blonde's skin in a sequence of violet, green and blue and Lexa can't look away.

She watches the woman toss her hair, sweep a hand though a spill of long, wavy locks. Their eyes clash across the floor and Lexa's breath stops. The woman's expression is unreadable from here. Caught out, Lexa drops her gaze, fidgets with the glass cradled in her palm, swirling the amber liquid around for the count of five seconds. When she looks up again she sees the blonde leaning close to another woman—taller, dark-haired, olive-skinned—shouting something into her ear. Her companion nods and Lexa tracks their progress as they and a third woman, all of them model-gorgeous, migrate towards the edge of the floor where the crush of bodies is less dense.

The music segues from pulsing, synthy electronica to a bass-heavy slow jam and some of the revellers disperse to the bar. It gives Lexa a much better view of the blonde, of the strapless red dress that skims mid-thigh, clings in all the right places and accentuates the incredible curve of her ass.

Unfortunately the cleared floor also provides an opening for a nearby trio of guys to slink up to the blonde's small group. They look uninterested, as far as Lexa can tell from their closed off body language, but that doesn't seem to deter the men. They crowd into the women's personal space and after a few minutes things start to look tense.

Silently Lexa watches and stews, jaw clenching. When she sees one of the men put his hand on the blonde's arm, how the woman shakes off the touch with a frown—well, the decision is made. Lexa excuses herself from the table and lifts her chin to Gustus, indicating he should follow.

She walks up to the blonde and doesn't hesitate to slide an arm around her waist. Before the woman can react Lexa presses a lingering kiss to her cheek. "Hey babe." Lexa squeezes her hip, a subtle message to play along. "Are these guys bothering you and your friends?"

The blonde is staring, her lips parted. She blinks slowly then she moves, turning her whole body into Lexa's side. Moulds herself into Lexa's body like it's the most familiar thing. "Well, _babe _..." Her voice is huskier than Lexa would've imagined and it evokes a pleasant flush of warmth in her chest. "Yes, they are."__

Lexa inclines her head towards the men, reluctantly dragging her gaze away from sparkling blue eyes. "Gustus, would you mind?"

The men gape, wide eyes swivelling between Lexa and the hulking, bearded man behind her. Gustus loosens his massive shoulders, cracks his knuckles as if he's readying for a fight. The three men instantly shrink back.

"Woah. W-wait, dude," one of them stammers.

Lexa's stare is cold, implacable. "Don't you think you owe these ladies an apology?"

Another pipes up, "Uh, yeah. Sorry, no offence."

She doesn't release her hold on the blonde's waist until the men have slunk out of sight. Even then Lexa remains close, the heat of the other woman's hip and stomach soaking through the thin wool of her suit. Satisfied that the situation's under control, Gustus nods at Lexa and departs without a word.

The blonde leans up to Lexa's ear to make herself heard over the thumping bassline of the music. "That was pretty smooth. Are you in the habit of rescuing women from unwanted advances?"

Over the woman's shoulder Lexa sees her two friends exchange a knowing glance. The shorter of the two, a severe, athletic-looking brunette, huffs and gives a monumental eyeroll. "Clarke," the other cuts in, "we're going to the bar."

"I'll catch up," the blonde— _Clarke_ —says, not taking her eyes off Lexa. "Well?"

Lexa places her lips beside Clarke's ear, feels the slight shiver that goes through her. "Maybe I was rescuing them from you instead. You look like you can handle yourself, Clarke." She likes how this woman's name feels in her mouth. Her eyes make a quick sweep of Clarke's figure. There's an aura of toughness about her, a subtle definition to her arms and exposed shoulders that makes Lexa wonder. It soon occurs to her that she's staring. She clears her throat and steps away. She isn't sure if she's imagining the flash of disappointment on Clarke's face. "I should let you get back to your friends."

"Or you could buy me a drink." The suggestion hangs between them. Clarke hoists an eyebrow, waiting for Lexa's reply. "I didn't catch your name, by the way."

A smirk tugs at Lexa's lips. "Lexa." She offers her hand for Clarke to shake. Slender fingers close around her own, squeezing lightly, and Lexa's senses filter out everything except the fit of Clarke's palm against hers, the dazzle of blue eyes under the shifting lights. "Lexa Trikru."

She expects a hint of recognition but there's none. "Unusual surname. Russian?"

"Albanian, originally."

Their hands remain clasped for a few seconds longer than necessary until Clarke laughs a little, letting go. She touches the side of her neck, traps her bottom lip between her teeth as she gazes up at Lexa through her lashes. It's so unsubtly flirtatious that Lexa has to smother a smile.

"Shall we?" Lexa tilts her head towards the raised seating area cordoned off by a red rope.

If Clarke's impressed by the VIP access it doesn't show. They claim a vacant two-seater couch against the back wall and Lexa signals a waiter for table service. Clarke sits entirely too close for someone she's only just been introduced to, thigh pressed to Lexa's from knee to hip. Not that Lexa's complaining. She unfastens the button on her blazer and drapes an arm across the back of the couch. As she does so her thumb grazes past Clarke's bare shoulder.

"What can I get for you, Ms Trikru?" the waiter asks.

Lexa's stare remains rooted on the woman beside her as she speaks, "Dalmore 20 year old, neat. Clarke?"

Clarke seems distracted, her eyes stuck to the glimpse of collarbones afforded by the open neck of Lexa's pressed white shirt. "Hendrick's and tonic. With a slice of cucumber and extra ice, please," she says, the rasp of her voice barely carrying over the music. The waiters leaves. With some effort, it would seem, Clarke lifts her gaze. "So how is it that the waitstaff know your name? If you were a regular I think I would've remembered seeing you around." It sounds like a pick up line, they both know it, but Clarke's obviously having fun with it.

"I'm the owner."

"Oh. Are you some kind of nightclub mogul?"

Lexa almost laughs. It's clear this woman has no clue who she is and it's so refreshing to Lexa. Usually she has people falling over themselves to flatter her or try to pitch their latest 'disruptive' idea. She's been on the cover of Forbes magazine, had Wall Street Journal profiles written about her; it isn't in Lexa's nature to brag but as one of the youngest CEOs of a Fortune 500 company, someone with a substantial personal net worth, she's kind of a big deal.

"No. It's a side project." Lexa shifts slightly, her eyes trailing over Clarke's face, lingering on the curve of her mouth, the beauty mark above her lip. "I'm an investor, mainly in tech startups developing Internet of Things products and services."

"Fascinating," Clarke says and something suggests it's not Lexa's career she's referring to.

The waiter returns to deposit their drinks on the table but neither of them acknowledge his presence. It isn't that Lexa intends to be impolite, it's just that she's so entirely wrapped up in looking at Clarke. It isn't just her beauty that's so compelling; she exudes an easy confidence, seems completely comfortable in her own skin, and Lexa finds that very attractive.

She reaches for Clarke's gin and passes it to her, their fingers brushing in the exchange. Clarke brings the highball glass to her lips and watches Lexa over the rim. Lexa picks up her own drink, takes a swallow. "Tell me about you, Clarke."

Clarke lets out a little huff of laughter. "Not much to say. College dropout; rapidly dwindling trust fund; delusions of earning a living as an artist but I've yet to actually exhibit anything." She shrugs, as if tired of what appears to be a contentious subject.

"What kind of art do you make?"

"I paint. Abstracts, mostly. I've done a few commissions but nothing major."

"Maybe you could show me your work sometime." Lexa means it genuinely but she notices the quirk of Clarke's eyebrow, the way she sucks in her cheek like she's trying not to grin. "Collecting art is a hobby of mine," Lexa clarifies but she can't resist dropping a playful line of her own: "I have an eye for beautiful things."

Clarke's gaze drifts over Lexa, taking in the tailored lines of the Tom Ford suit, the Hublot watch (an admittedly extravagant gift from Titus when Polis VC had breached its first million in net profit). "I see that." Her blue eyes flick back up to Lexa's and they're so dark, so inviting, Lexa's barely conscious of leaning closer.

Her own eyes dip briefly to Clarke's mouth, just inches from her own. Lexa's hand, the one not holding the neglected tumbler of whisky, lifts off the back of the couch and trails with slow deliberation over Clarke's shoulder, slipping around to cup the back of her neck. Clarke's skin is burning hot against Lexa's fingertips.

"Is this too presumptuous?"

"No," Clarke says, warm breath gusting across Lexa's parted lips. "I was kind of hoping it would go this way."

"That makes two of us."

"Let me just..." Clarke leans away to get rid of her drink then takes Lexa's off her too. "Wouldn't want to spill anything on that nice jacket."

"Very considerate," Lexa says once Clarke's re-situated beside her.

She touches Lexa's knee, the heat of her palm setting Lexa's skin alight even though the barrier of her pants. "So I've been told." Clarke's lids are heavy, lashes dark and thick, the effect emphasised by the smoky eye makeup she wears. Her hand slides midway up Lexa's thigh and it takes everything Lexa has to show some restraint, not to pull this woman into her arms like she wants to.

The space between them shrinks by tiny increments until they're all but breathing the same air. Their lips graze and Lexa's sucks in a quick breath in anticipation of—

"Lexa."

"Fuck," she hears Clarke hiss softly but with feeling as they separate.

Titus stands over them, a frown lining his face. "Jasper and Monty are returning to their hotel. I thought you'd want to say goodbye."

Lexa gives him an incredulous look. It isn't the first time he's tried to run interference with women in some misguided belief that he's protecting her best interests. He takes his promise to her late father to guide Lexa in all matters too far. Still, she won't cause a scene over it. Not here. "Give us a moment."

He steps away but not without directing a loaded glance between the two of them.

"I don't think your friend likes me," Clarke says with a dry laugh.

"He forgets his place." It comes out too sharply. Lexa takes a breath to gather herself and touches the back of Clarke's hand where it rests between them on the couch. "It's an ongoing battle of wills. Titus doesn't approve of anyone he sees me with."

Clarke turns her palm over and tangles her fingers with Lexa's. It surprises Lexa, how easily Clarke touches her considering they've known each other for all of five minutes. "Maybe he doubts my intentions."

"Which are?"

"I just want to get you alone."

The expression Clarke holds, the intensity with which she's starting at Lexa, is verging on indecent. Blue eyes sweep slowly over Lexa's face, snaring on her mouth for a few seconds before roaming down her throat, her chest. When Clarke drags her gaze back up, the sight of dilated pupils causes a surge of heat between Lexa's thighs.

"My apartment's a ten minute drive away." It's a gamble; Clarke's almost a stranger but there's something about her that Lexa instinctively trusts and she can't explain it, but she needs to follow this through.

"Sounds perfect," Clarke smiles and Lexa wants so badly to kiss her.

"Titus," Lexa calls out, knowing the man's still hovering nearby. She can feel the force of his glower boring into the side of her face. "Have Gustus bring the car around."

  
  
*  
  


As soon as they're settled in the back of the town car Gustus raises the privacy partition and pulls away from the curb.

After a second or two Clarke turns to her. The air is leaden with expectation and the weight of Clarke's stare makes the already confined space seem to close in on itself. Lexa's perception narrows to the sound of their breathing, the low downbeat of the music that drifts from the speakers, the shine of Clarke's lip gloss, face illuminated by passing streetlights.

Neither speak as they both slide across the buttery leather seats. Lexa puts her palm on Clarke's knee and inches slowly up warm, smooth skin. She hears Clarke's breath hitch when her fingers skirt beneath the hem of the dress. Clarke reaches for Lexa, a hand curling around the side of her neck, dipping under her shirt collar.

The cloud of Clarke's perfume—something sweet and citrusy—surrounds them, making Lexa's head swim. They're so close. All it takes is a small lift of Clarke's chin for their lips to connect, mouths opening to each other without hesitation. When Clarke's tongue dips inside, strokes against her own, Lexa squeezes Clarke's thigh and she _moans_. It sounds borderline obscene and it makes Lexa ache with want, curious what other noises she can pull from Clarke.

"Tell me if this is happening too fast," Lexa murmurs as she helps Clarke climb into her lap.

Clarke just nods, apparently unwilling to part her mouth from Lexa's for even a second, chasing the contact when Lexa pulls back to change the angle of the kiss. Clarke's lips feel incredible; soft, pliant, tacky with the remnants of gloss. Lexa isn't one for vices—she was far too instilled with discipline from an early age—but she could get addicted to this, to the taste and texture of Clarke's mouth.

Clarke's other hand grips the headrest and she rolls her full body against Lexa. Both exhale softly, shakily into kiss as Lexa reaches around to palm at Clarke's ass. The dress has ridden up and when Lexa's hands meets bare skin she quickly becomes alerted to the fact that Clarke's not wearing any panties.

Jesus.

Clarke leans back, teeth snagging on her bottom lip. Her eyes are hooded, irises almost entirely eclipsed by dark pupils. "Are you judging me?" It's said teasingly but there's an undercurrent of tension in Clarke's words.

"No," Lexa answers too quickly, "I lo-" She clamps her mouth shut because _what the fuck_?

Clarke doesn't appear to have noticed her misstep. Her eyes move over Lexa's jaw, down the line of her throat. Clarke's fingers travel the same route, continuing down Lexa's chest and pausing at the first closed button of her shirt. Blue eyes flick up to check in and Lexa gives a slow, subtle nod.

Clarke opens two buttons, just enough to reveal the lacy black bra beneath (one of Lexa's few concessions to traditional femininity; she just loves the feel of expensive lingerie against her skin). Clarke slips a hand inside the shirt, immediately seeks out a satin-covered breast and kneads at the swell. This time it's Lexa who bites off a moan, lifts her hips to have Clarke closer, closer. She grabs at the fleshy globes of Clarke's ass and Clarke exhales roughly against her chin, her own hips circling.

Their mouths collide again, a heated push and pull that leaves Lexa's chest heaving. Minutes slip by, punctuated by harsh breaths, the wet suction of lips, the rustle of fabric as they start grinding on each other in earnest. They don't even realise the town car has come to a stop until Lexa hears the gruff sound of a cleared throat over the speakers. It yanks Lexa out of the fog her mind is in but she isn't prepared for the expression she sees on Clarke's face. She looks like she's seconds from devouring Lexa. "We're here," Lexa says, aware of the rough edge to her voice.

They disentangle and tug their clothes back into place. As she exits the vehicle Lexa purposely doesn't meet Gustus's eye.

  
  
*  
  


The elevator ride up is filled with a delicious kind of tension. From their positions on opposite sides of the elevator car they keep glancing at each other then away. By the time they reach the 25th floor Lexa can't stand it anymore. She steps forward, bracing one arm beside Clarke's shoulder where she's pressed up against the glass wall. They're close but not touching. Their eyes meet, hold for what seems like an infinite second, before Lexa leans in, her mouth latching on to the juncture of Clarke's jaw and neck, scraping her teeth where Clarke's pulse throbs strongest.

It's all the provocation needed for Clarke to grab her head with both hands, guiding Lexa's face up to kiss her, open-mouthed. Lexa's free arm hooks around Clarke's waist, pulling their bodies flush together.

A loud ding alerts them to their arrival at the top floor.

"The penthouse?" Clarke says, sounding a little breathless. "Don't tell me you own this entire building?"

Lexa gives a half smile. "No. Only the top five floors." She gestures to the open elevator doors. "After you."

  
  
*  
  


She watches silently as Clarke wanders into the lounge area, taking in the sleek, minimal lines of the decor, the floor to ceiling windows that dominate the space and afford a spectacular view of the city lights. Clarke nudges her shoes off, bare toes sinking into the plush white carpet.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Lexa asks, removing her jacket and draping it over one of the dining chairs. She picks up the remote for the sound system and selects a playlist for the occasion, something slow-tempo and sensual.

Clarke turns, shakes her head. "I think I want to be sober for this." Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. "Come here."

Lexa approaches slowly, hands in her pockets, until she stands close enough to feel the heat of Clarke's body. Without heels on Clarke's a couple of inches shorter than Lexa and the simple fact of their height difference is such a turn on. Fingers wrap around her wrists, tugging Lexa's hands free of the pockets.

"Dance with me?" Clarke lets go only to drape her arms around Lexa's shoulders, pressing the full length of her body against her.

Lexa's hands find the curve of the other woman's hips as they sway together. It's hardly what anyone would categorise as dancing but Lexa's too caught up in Clarke's proximity to care. In the low lighting Clarke's eyes are dark and huge and Lexa thinks that if she stares long enough she might topple into an abyss.

"Can I let your hair down?" Clarke asks after a minute, maybe longer. With Clarke this close Lexa loses all sense of time.

She nods. Clarke's more gentle than she expects as she releases Lexa's hair from its bun, carefully threading her fingers through the loose curls that tumble over Lexa's shoulder and down her back. Lexa feels unusually self-conscious and it probably has something to do with the way Clarke's staring at her. Lexa's used to admiring glances, compliments, being hit on by men and women alike. Objectively, Lexa knows people find her attractive and it's a point of pride to be well turned out. But this is more. Clarke looks at her as if she's a priceless masterpiece, like Clarke's having some kind of epiphany or a spiritual awakening. It's a little overwhelming to be on the receiving end of that.

Lexa's lips twitch up at the corner. "Wha—"

She's cut off by Clarke's mouth covering her own and it catches Lexa off guard. Her fingers clutch at Clarke's hips—a reflex, hard enough to bruise—and Clarke just groans against her parted lips. She's dimly aware of Clarke fisting both hands in the front of her shirt then the sudden sound of fabric tearing. A button flies off, unseen. Lexa doesn't even care that a $500 shirt is ruined (she has a whole rack full of them, organised by colour). She's only focused on how Clarke's scrambling to get her out of it. How Clarke's hands are everywhere, running over every inch of skin within her reach. How she keeps returning to Lexa's abs, tracing the definition of muscle over and over, a distraction while Lexa's busying herself with the fastening of Clarke's dress.

She tugs on the zip, peels the clingy material down Clarke's torso until it gathers at her waist. Clarke isn't wearing a bra and the sight of her makes Lexa's mouth go dry.

"You're allowed to look _and_ touch, you know." Clarke takes her hands, placing them on her sternum. Lexa doesn't need to be coaxed, allowing her palms to glide lower until she's cupping those perfect breasts. Clarke gives a soft hum of approval, her fingers skimming along Lexa's forearms, drawing goosebumps in their wake. She lingers over the tattoo that circles Lexa's upper arm, fingertips following the sharp lines and elegant whorls of black ink. "Nice tat."

Lexa's mouth trails across the line of Clarke's jaw. She bites down gently at the small cleft in Clarke's chin. "A souvenir of a brief teenage rebellion. My father was livid when he saw it, even threatened to disinherit me." She smiles slightly at the memory. "I never told him about the others."

"Show me?" Clarke says, her expression a mixture of curiosity and desire. Lexa scoops her hair forward over one shoulder and turns her back to Clarke. She feels the ghost of a touch down the notches of her vertebrae and tries to contain the chill that ripples down her spine. "This is beautiful. What does it mean?"

Lexa swallows, looks over her shoulder and Clarke must read her hesitance. Deep blue eyes regard her steadily for a few seconds, understanding dawning in them. "You don't have to tell me. In fact, we don't have to talk at all," Clarke says, reaching for the clasp of Lexa's bra and unhooking it. She pushes the straps off Lexa's shoulders and presses a kiss to the nape of her neck. It's such an unexpectedly tender gesture that it makes Lexa's heart catch.

She faces Clarke again, pulls her closer by the waist. Clarke's skin is so warm and soft against hers and Lexa craves more. Their mouths meet halfway, open and searching. Clarke's hand sinks into her hair, directing with a subtle tug, tilting Lexa's head for a better angle as the kisses turn deep and heavy.

Lexa pushes at the dress bunched around Clarke's waist, dragging it down over wide hips until the fabric pools on the floor. She hooks her hands behind Clarke's thighs and boosts until legs wrap around her. Clarke's little gasp of surprise doesn't escape the seal of their mouths, nor does Lexa's groan at the slick, hot drag of Clarke's cunt against her stomach. They don't stop kissing, not until Lexa carries Clarke to the couch and lays her down.

For half a moment Lexa has to just stand there and take a breath while she admires the view. Because Clarke is gorgeous like this: hair spilling across the cushions, breasts proud and beckoning, the bend of a knee obscuring Lexa's view of the dark blonde strip of curls between her legs.

Clarke reaches one arm out and takes hold of Lexa's belt buckle. "Take your pants off." She tugs. "Just, God, take everything off and get on top of me, will you?"

The shameless impatience raises a smirk from Lexa. She considers dragging it out, making Clarke wait, but that would only be torture for both of them. The fact is Lexa's just as desperate as Clarke, if not more so. She undresses briskly, losing the belt, shoes, pants and underwear in quick succession. The last item of discarded clothing barely hits the floor before she climbs over Clarke's body.

Without needing to be prompted Clarke spreads her legs to make room and Lexa settles against the cradle of Clarke's hips, bracing her weight on her elbows. They fit like they were made for one another and that is far too poetic a thought for Lexa to be having right now with Clarke naked beneath her.

"What do you like?" Lexa asks then licks a wet stripe up the column of Clarke's neck. She sighs and clutches at Lexa's shoulders. Lexa noses along her jaw, breathes in the scent of her perfume.

"I'm fine with whatever." The raspy edge to Clarke's voice is more pronounced now and it's so fucking sexy.

Lexa flicks her tongue over Clarke's earlobe and savours the small shudder it earns her. "Would you let me go down on you?"

She pulls back to look at the other woman. Clarke's lips are parted and there's a pink tinge to her cheeks. Blue eyes blink slowly back at Lexa. "Like you need to ask."

Lexa says, "Yes, I do."

"Then for the avoidance of doubt I 100% consent for you to perform oral sex on me."

"How about fingers? Are you into penetration?" She hears Clarke curse under her breath and Lexa has to suppress a wider smile.

"Uh, fingers are good. But not, like..." Clarke makes an awkward hand gesture, "round the back. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just feel it's something you probably work up to with a lot of trust and alcohol and lube."

And Lexa really shouldn't find it endearing the way Clarke's rambling but she does. "Okay." She tries and fails to keep the amusement out of her tone. "Anything else that's off limits?"

"Other than peeing on me? Nothing I can think of."

"If at any time you want me to stop, just say the word. All right?"

"Yeah," Clarke nods vigorously and she shimmies a little further down on the couch to get more comfortable, bringing the wetness between her legs into direct contact with Lexa's lower abdomen. She's _soaking_ and for a second Lexa considers the inconvenience of having the upholstery steam-cleaned and decides it's absolutely worth it.

Now that the ground rules are established Lexa wastes no time in exploring Clarke's body. She drops open-mouthed kisses over Clarke's upper chest, spends an inordinate amount of time nipping and licking and sucking at Clarke's clavicles. By the time Lexa reaches her breasts Clarke's chest is already heaving, nipples erect and begging for attention.

At first Lexa avoids the sensitive peaks, mouthing at the swells of Clarke's breasts, dragging her lips over and around the undersides. The gentle suction of Lexa's mouth leaves faint little marks that disappear seconds later. She doesn't want to bruise Clarke—this isn't about possession—just wants to make her feel good. Finally, finally, she takes a nipple into her mouth, swirling around the hard tip, using the flat of her tongue to lick slowly. She turns to the other breast, keeps straying back and forth between the two because Lexa truly believes Clarke's tits are a wonder of the modern world and she can't get enough of them.

"Lexa," Clarke grits out after a few agonisingly long minutes of this. Her nails are digging into Lexa's shoulders and her hips have begun a slow rocking motion. Damp, tufty hair scratches lightly against Lexa's body with every movement.

There's another noise, this time one of mild complaint when Lexa lifts her mouth from flushed skin. "What do you want, Clarke?" Their eyes meet and the blatant lust in Clarke's stare provokes an involuntary whimper from Lexa that she immediately tamps down on.

"I want—" Clarke's voice cracks. She pauses, runs her tongue over her lips as her eyes bore into Lexa's. "I want your fingers inside me. And then I want you to eat me out because I know I'm going to be ready to come again so fast." She flexes one eyebrow, confidence returning tenfold. "How does that sound?"

Well.

Lexa stares, her mouth opening and closing. She presses her lips together and tries to corral her runaway thoughts. Tries to ignore the heavy throb of arousal that makes her squeeze her thighs together. She clears her throat roughly. "Acceptable."

The word's barely left Lexa's mouth before Clarke's tugging her forward into another kiss, one with a lot more tongue than she's quite ready for. Lexa pushes up on one elbow, mouth never leaving Clarke's, as they reposition slightly on the couch. She straddles a thigh, her own falling between Clarke's legs.

"God, you're so wet," Clarke mumbles against her lips. Her hands migrate from Lexa's shoulders, taking a lengthy diversion over her breasts, plucking at and rolling Lexa's nipples until she begins shifting restlessly against Clarke's thigh. Clarke moves lower, fingers curling around the jut of Lexa's hipbones.

Lexa slides a hand between them. She sifts through short curls, pushes her middle finger down between drenched folds. She swallows the groan Clarke lets out when Lexa glances over her clit, circles lazily around her opening. Clarke keeps lifting her hips in an attempt to direct Lexa inside and it makes her smile into the kiss.

A growl of frustration turns into a choked moan when Lexa presses two fingers into Clarke. Slick walls grasp around her, pulling her in deeper. Clarke kisses her harder, sloppier as Lexa works her over, setting a steady pace. Sweat breaks out on Lexa's lower back and soon her arm begins to tremble because the angle's a little awkward and putting strain on her wrist. But it's also perfect; the way Clarke's driving her hips up to meet every thrust; how the kiss dissolves into Clarke gasping into her mouth, the noises picking up in pitch and volume when Lexa starts to rub her thumb determinedly over and around Clarke's swollen clit.

"Oh, fuck," Clarke pants. Her nails dig in to Lexa's skin and she's sure there are going to be red scores there in morning. "Lex, I'm gonna- _fuck_ -"

Clarke's back arches so suddenly she nearly dislodges Lexa. Her hips jerk in a staccato rhythm, slamming into Lexa's buried fingers as the climax takes her. Wetness spills into Lexa's palm and, yes, onto the couch below.

She takes her thumb off Clarke's clit but Lexa doesn't withdraw her fingers, instead slowing to shallow strokes as Clarke continues to pulse and clench around her. She draws Clarke into a languid kiss, hardly allowing her the time to catch her breath. She sucks on Clarke's bottom lip, drags her teeth over the swell of it, before soothing with a sweep of her tongue. When they part she lets her forehead rest against Clarke's. They stay like that for a few minutes while the aftershocks subside.

One of Clarke's hands comes to Lexa's cheek and blue eyes rove over her face with open affection. "Babe, I think we ruined our couch."

Lexa can't prevent the laugh that bubbles up. "I knew this would be too much for you, Clarke. You couldn't even keep up the pretence beyond one orgasm."

"What can I say? This fantasy really does it for me. Besides you've been giving me heart eyes all night, Miss Hot-Mysterious-CEO, so I'm not the only one breaking immersion. And don't think I missed you almost saying you love me in the car." Clarke shakes her head in faux disappointment. "Weak, Lexa."

Lexa hums and drops another kiss on Clarke's mouth. Slowly she removes her fingers and lets them glide through the sticky mess between Clarke's legs. "Acting isn't my strong suit."

This, the casual intimacy following sex, is probably Lexa's favourite part of being with Clarke. It's been four years and the novelty hasn't worn off yet. In fact, Lexa doesn't think she'll ever tire of how beautifully, blissfully happy her girlfriend looks in these moments.

"I don't know. You were pretty convincing that time we role-played the fierce post-apocalyptic warrior chief and the sassy space captive."

"Oh my God, don't." Lexa shuts her eyes briefly at the memory. "I thought that face paint was never going to wash off the sheets." One thousand thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets. 

"Anyway, _Commander_ ," Clarke drawls, walking her fingers up Lexa's forearm. "How about we take this to bedroom? I think I said something about you making me come at least twice and so far we're only one for two."

"I suppose so," Lexa sighs, breaking into a wide smile when Clarke swats at her. She sits up and wraps Clarke in her arms. This time when they kiss she freely pours every ounce of feeling into it.

Definitely her favourite part.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr, [femininenachos](https://femininenachos.tumblr.com/).


End file.
